


An Imposition

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:58:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was inspired by one of those ever-present Tumblr AU posts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Imposition

Rose actually went to bed on time for once. Mostly because she's got a eight am class with Professor Sneed and god knows he's out for her blood after that paper on gender breakdowns in modern day television that he had the gall to read to the class as a sort of this-is-how-we-don't-write-papers lesson. Whatever. It's not like she's going to ace his class anyway, but she needs the sleep because she'd rather not be failed for failing to even turn up.

The blaring fire alarm has her flying out of bed at 2:45 am and she stumbles out of bed cursing everyone and everything as she searches for a source of the commotion. No smoke or flame meet her eyes which means it isn't her place that's the cause of the disturbance. 

She's certain she knows the culprit and as she makes her way down five flights of stairs - and she hates these stairs on a normal day and right now she loathes them - she keeps her eyes peeled for the ever present Luke Rattigan and his stupid experiments. That boy was going to blow the whole place up one of these days.

Thankfully there is no visible flames or smell of smoke and it gives her hope that her belongings might survive another day; she really can't afford to start fresh right now. It's late summer and an abnormally warm night and so it isn't until she hits street level and is herded across the asphalt to the grass with all the other sleepy residents that it finally registers she is wearing an over-sized sweatshirt and not much else. 

Sinking into the grass - the damp and chilly grass, she pulls her sweatshirt down over her knees and avoids eye contact with anyone. She likes to run into these people at the mail slots and to nod at them in the hall, not to observe them in various stages of dress and undress and _dear god, was that Van Statten in minion boxer shorts_?

"The most popular ice breaker question is what you'd save if your house was on fire and what that says about you as a person." A new voice interrupts her shocked musings and she tilts her head to see the speaker.

She doesn't know him, not his name anyway, she actually knows quite a bit about him. He favors trench coats, always walks around with a book, has hair that defied all the known laws of gravity, has a sister who visit him on weekends with whom he seems to communicate by shouting, and says hello to everyone he passes. What? It's important to know one's neighbors. It has nothing to do with his devilish good looks or really great hair, really, really great hair. She's getting distracted.

"Yeah? And what does," she glances at her laptop and phone, "this say about me?"

His laugh was nice, she decides. She smiles at him, her laughter dying away when she realizes he is clad in merely a vest top with cut off sleeves and boxer shorts decorated with mustaches. She clears her throat and focuses on his face, which honestly doesn't help because that kind of attractiveness really ought to be illegal.

He flops down beside her, stretching his legs out like he doesn't care that a mere scrap of material stand between the world and his jewels. She doesn't know whether to be insulted that he isn't afraid of getting a boner brought on by her own half-clothed state or intrigued by his self-control and the possibilities therein. 

"That you're another cog stuck in uni," he responds and she's nearly forgotten they had a conversation going on.

"I'm not a cog," she starts to respond and then gives it up. She is a cog and she knows it. "Okay, well, maybe I am."

"Figured as much. Psych right?" he guesses and she gapes at him, bringing about another burst of laughter. "I've got a few classes down at that end and I've seen you down there. You're hard to miss."

She feels her cheeks heating up and she ducks her head a little, but then straightens up, leveling a look at him; she isn't that girl tonight. "What wheel are you pushing then?"

He grins at her, wide and easy. "Physics. And astronomy. I plan to combine the two - the study of time travel so I can eventually see the stars."

"A worthy goal," she salutes him lazily. "I'm Rose, Rose Tyler."

He takes her hand, squeezes it gently, and a jolt goes through her. "I'm John Noble."

"And what did you choose to save then?" she asks, super proud of herself for the fact that her voice sounds at least reasonably normal. 

John glances at his side and laughs, lifting a hi-lighter and a take-out container and shrugging. 

"Professor Yana is a hardass. I was still awake and studying," he defends and she is so intent on _not_ commenting that he studies like that when a shadow falls across them.

It's Luke, wringing his hand and looking so miserable she almost feels sorry for him. 

"Listen John, the firefighters, they, uh, they finished their sweep. And I'm really sorry, but they said the smoke contaminated your flat too and maybe you should find a different spot to sleep." The boy's voice is apology personified. 

John sighs, full-bodied like he's been here before and expected nothing more from his night. "What were you doing this time?"

"It was alien tech, I know it was." Luke's head shoots up and he gives John a half-pleading, half-excited look. "You'd like it."

"Maybe tomorrow, right now I think you've got a date with Mister Roberts." John jerks his head across the grass.

Luke jumps, turns with a startled expression, and gulps at the sight of their very angry landlord who has a glare leveled at Luke. 

"Right, yes, I will just, do that. Very sorry, John." Luke squares his shoulder, looking like he's off for the firing squad. "I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe."

Rose glances sideways at John, despite his earlier laughter his face is drawn and tired. She doesn't have an excuse, not really, nothing that doesn't look suspiciously like John's really great hair and fantastic bum, but she opens her mouth anyway.

"I have a couch."

"What?" His head swings her direction, surprise evident on every line. 

"I've got a couch. And a fork," she gestures at his takeout and is relieved when his face melts into a smile. 

"Thank you," he says. "I wouldn't want to impose though. Do you have to be up early?"

"Not an imposition, I've got nothing till noon."

Her lip curls slightly at the thought of Sneed. Screw him and his sexist ideologies, dude was practically from the dark ages; she was going to sleep in and maybe get some breakfast with John. With a smile, she pushes to her feet and takes his hand, ostensibly so as not to lose him in the crowd, and together they join the queue heading back inside.


End file.
